


We Carry On

by hpjk_addict



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Mpreg Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 13:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpjk_addict/pseuds/hpjk_addict
Summary: Dean is pregnant. Sam comes back. Sequel to "No Happy Ending In Sight" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/10862832)





	We Carry On

Crap. Crap. Crap! Dean squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he feels an unmistakable prickle of tears. Awesome. Just awesome. Stabbing a freaking toe should not bring him to tears. It’s just not right. And yet here he is brushing away stupid tears like a girl. Not that he has anything against girls and he’s heard that crying is healthy and all that crap. And he is pregnant. So he might as well be a girl. Men don't usually get pregnant, do they? Dean half-snorts with laughter, half-chokes on a sob he can’t contain and slides to the floor. It’s an automatic reaction and he realises that it’s a mistake as soon as he hits the ground. Now he’ll need help getting up. It sucks that he doesn’t have anyone to help him. And there it is again – that stupid need to cry. Great.

He really needs to get going. He’s been tracking down a witch, following a trail of blood, bones, hex bags and corpses that she’s been leaving behind, across several states, finally catching up with her. He knows that he has to jump her tonight before she figures something out and disappears in thin air. He’s been growing too big to carry – the thing – inside of him. And he has no clue how much longer before it decides to pop. Dean kind of wants to survive the ordeal. But there are times when he wonders if it’s even a kid, if it’s real or – well – human. He’s not exactly equipped to carry babies and yet here he is. He isn’t even sure that a spell will work but he figures that if it was caused by magic then why the hell not. So the plan is to make her give him a spell or a ritual before putting a bullet through her head. She doesn’t need to know that last part.

Dean tries to get up and is once again struck by what a monumentally stupid idea it was. He wishes Sam was here to lend him a hand. Only he really-really-really doesn’t. Hell, no. He misses Sam like hell but he doesn’t want his brother to see him like this. He is completely useless. He can’t even get off the freaking floor. He’s breathing heavily and cursing loudly when he finally manages to regain an upright (although wobbly) position, having pushed himself upwards with his hands against the wall. It’s ridiculous. He wants to shoot something or cut someone’s head off to take off the edge. He hasn’t been hunting in months and it’s driving him nuts. If he’s lucky, tonight he’ll get to shoot the witch. He pulls himself together, checks that he has everything he needs, jerks the door open and finds himself face to face with – 

“Sam?”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat. Sam looks absolutely miserable and sodden – Dean vaguely wonders when it started to rain – but his face lights up when he sees Dean.

“Dean! Thank God!”

Dean narrows his eyes, crosses his hands over his gigantic belly and looks suspiciously at his brother.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

Sam shifts from foot to foot, looks down at his dirt-caked boots and clears his throat.

“I've been… sort of… tracking you down,” he mumbles at last. He looks up at him, sheepish and hopeful.

Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Why?”

Sam doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then – 

“I do love you, you know,” he says quietly.

Dean blinks. He suddenly finds it hard to breathe. He thinks it might be because his heart is having some sort of ritualistic dance with war cries and all that threatens to spill through his nostrils and eyeballs. ‘What the hell, Sammy?!’ is what he wants to scream.

“Is that why you keep running away?” he asks just as quietly instead.

“No! Yes. Dean... I…” Sam falls silent, his expression frustrated. “Can – can I come in?”

Dean hesitates. He pushes a hand through his hair, then shrugs and lets him in. He closes the door and watches as Sam shakes the rain out of his sodden hair like a dog. It’s kind of endearing. Or maybe it’s just him. When Sam finally looks at him his gaze immediately falls on Dean’s huge baby bump. He doesn’t take his eyes away.

“You – er – you’ve grown – er – bigger,” he stutters and spreads his arms slightly to indicate Dean’s girth.

Dean snorts.

“Am I supposed to give you points for observation first or can I get right to kicking your sorry ass part?” he asks gruffly. “’Cause I need to punch something, Sammy, I need to punch something real bad, and I gotta say your face'll do just fine.”

Sam licks his lips nervously.

“Don’t you have to take it easy or something, dude? Why don't you take seat?”

“Go fuck yourself, Sam,” growls Dean, clenching his hands into fists.

“Sorry.” Sam raises his hands in surrender. “Take it easy, man.”

“Right. Was there something you wanted? ‘Cause I was just on my way out when you barged in…”

“Oh? Where were you going?”

Dean hesitates before telling Sam what he’s planning on doing. Not surprisingly Sam looks at him as though he’s lost his mind.

“So what? Just like that?” he asks, shaking his head so that specks of rainwater hit Dean in the face. “That’s your plan, Dean? Barge into some witch’s place at night, hold a gun to her head until she gives you a spell or a ritual and then shoot her? Smart, Dean. Real smart.”

“Like I said, Sammy, go fuck yourself. It’s as good a plan as any. It’s not like I had a back-up or anything to count on.”

Sam looks stricken.

“I'm sorry I left,” he blurts out. “I really am, Dean. I should never have left...”

Dean snorts.

“So what now? You want me to take you back or something?”

Sam spreads his arms and hangs his head.

“Or something.”

He looks up the next moment, waiting. Dean looks at him for a long time, making him squirm under his inscrutable gaze.

“I needed you, Sammy,” he admits quietly at last. “Do you know how fucking hard it was being on my own all these months?”

Dean sits down on the edge of the bed. Sam sits down beside him, their knees touching.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over again like some magic chant that can make things better. Not that it can...

Dean shakes his head. “No matter how many times you gonna repeat that, it won’t change the fact that you left when I needed you, so you might as well knock it off.” Dean rakes a hand through his hair. “Man, I had no idea what to do with this freak show. Hell, I still don’t. And I needed my brother to have my back.”

“I had to go,” whispers Sam, not meeting his eye. “I couldn't stay. I just couldn’t.”

Dean takes a deep breath. Exhales.

“Because of what happened?” he asks softly, looking anywhere but at Sam. “Because of what we did?”

“Because of what I did, Dean! I! Because of what I did to you! Because of what I made you do!”

Dean frowns. “Sam, what are you – ?”

Sam lets out a mirthless laugh. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“I remember,” replies Dean simply. “I remember that you didn't make me do shit. What the hell is wrong with you, man? We both... we both...” Dean falls silent, trying to wrap his mind around what Sam is saying. “Is that what you think happened?” he asks incredulously. “Is that what made you run for the hills? Because let me tell you, Sam, you didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”

Sam lets out a loud breath. “But what if it... what if it wasn’t what you… what if you didn’t... would you still...?”

“What? Would I still go through with it?”

“Yes!”

They turn to face each other at the same time and stare for a long moment. Finally, Dean shrugs and looks away.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”

“I want you to tell me that you would have stopped me if that wasn’t what you wanted.”

“It’s a moot point, don't you think, Sammy? We both wanted it. I don’t see the problem...”

“And that’s the problem right there, Dean!” Sam springs to his feet and starts pacing the room. “I know you, Dean! I know that you’d do anything you thought I needed you to do even if it meant doing something against your will and that’s the fucking problem! I couldn’t stand being around you, knowing what I could make you do, knowing that self-sacrificing shtick of yours when it comes to me.”

Dean takes a deep breath.

“So what now? You gonna run away again?” he asks wearily. “’Cause I gotta tell you that was a really shitty thing to do to come all the way here only to walk away again… I was just getting used to you not being around…”

“I’m not running,” says Sam firmly, plopping down next to Dean again. “I’m staying right here. With you.” He claps Dean on the knee. “We figure it out. Together. The... the kid thing. And the other thing. The one we started under the curse. We go after that witch or any other witch that can help us. And then we settle down and – ”

Dean snorts.

“Settle down? Have you met us?”

“We can’t exactly keep hunting with a kid in tow, Dean.”

“I know, Sammy, I know. But you know as well as I do that this kind of life... it doesn’t let you go... kid or no kid.”

“Well, the way I see it is we settle down and we don’t go looking for trouble. But if trouble finds us – ”

“ – and it always does – ”

“ – then we do what we always do. We fight. We win. We carry on.”

Dean’s mouth splits into a grin.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Damn right.”

“Damn right.”


End file.
